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chibi_trillianTitle: Naka-to
Series: One Piece.
One Piece: Not mine.
Rating: PG.
Summary: Putting an edge back on a sword is not a pleasant process. Crossposted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
zosopp.
Notes: Hopefully part the second of three. Naka-to is the medium grade of Japanese waterstone.
Zoro was cradling Yubashiri’s hilt in his hands when Usopp stumbled in, his silent focus seeming to fill the new men’s quarters like the bone-deep vibration of an immense gong that only Usopp could hear. Usopp swallowed hard, recognizing the sleek ebony hilt that his own fingers had so lately wrapped around. Had he somehow lead to its demise, his bad luck tarnishing it with his touch, his childish selfishness flawing it fatally? Unwilling to find out, he reached for the door.
“Stop.”
The gong had sharpened to a great bell, and Usopp felt like he was standing inside it as it sang, those new, molten-steel places within him vibrating in tune with it until he felt he might shatter.
Something chipped off, sparking from the fierce friction, and burst out of his lips as, “I’m sorry.”
A soft, surprised huff, almost lost in the dizzy ringing of Usopp’s ears. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. You keep throwing those words around and they’re not going to mean much.”
“I…I wasn’t much good as a sword, was I?”
“I’ve held worse. Improvised weapons are never the best.” The truncated rasp of a broken blade being returned to its mostly-empty scabbard.
He shook his head slowly, hand tightening on the door, trying to remember why he’d come in here. He’d…he’d been looking for something…he’d come in here sure that he’d find it, and had managed to do nothing but break in on the swordsman’s privacy. This happened way too often, lately—strange thoughts, odd moments of unfocused reverie, and the near-nightly jerking out of overheated, metallic dreams and finding himself halfway across the room before he realized that he didn’t know why he was standing. The others thought he was having nightmares—Sanji had started pouring astringently-flavored tea down his throat before bed, swearing it to be utterly sovereign against night terrors of all sorts with the kind of conviction that made Usopp wonder what had once chased the blond man through his dreams.
The tea hadn’t helped, but Usopp was getting better about pretending to need to visit the head when he staggered out of his hammock. Great Liar Usopp, scared of letting anyone know the truth. He hadn’t felt this much like he was losing his mind since…since…
Since Merry had started talking to him.
Maybe he really had cracked. Maybe one of those blows to the head had addled his brains at last. Maybe he should have just stayed on Water 7, where he could be crazy in a setting where it would do no harm. He didn’t feel insane, though. He just felt…abraded. Like he’d had a little too much of himself rubbed away by what had happened, and he hadn’t figured out how to deal with it yet.
Zoro’s hand closed over his, and he realized that he hadn’t even registered the swordsman getting up and moving, hadn’t felt the increasing pressure of his regard until that touch, hand over hand, cuff-marks matching, drowning suddenly in the soft, faint scent of sword oil and sweat.
“I-I’m sorry about Yubashiri.” The words jerked out of his mouth before he could stop them. Where was his clever tongue now? He should be leaving, should be hiding, should be staying out of Zoro’s way so he could mourn his lost blade in peace.
“Don’t be.” There it was, the low, warm rumble from his dreams, and a thumb gliding slowly across his cheek, smoothing away something only Zoro could see. “Yubashiri broke. Hana Arashi didn’t.”
Series: One Piece.
One Piece: Not mine.
Rating: PG.
Summary: Putting an edge back on a sword is not a pleasant process. Crossposted to
zosopp.Notes: Hopefully part the second of three. Naka-to is the medium grade of Japanese waterstone.
Zoro was cradling Yubashiri’s hilt in his hands when Usopp stumbled in, his silent focus seeming to fill the new men’s quarters like the bone-deep vibration of an immense gong that only Usopp could hear. Usopp swallowed hard, recognizing the sleek ebony hilt that his own fingers had so lately wrapped around. Had he somehow lead to its demise, his bad luck tarnishing it with his touch, his childish selfishness flawing it fatally? Unwilling to find out, he reached for the door.
“Stop.”
The gong had sharpened to a great bell, and Usopp felt like he was standing inside it as it sang, those new, molten-steel places within him vibrating in tune with it until he felt he might shatter.
Something chipped off, sparking from the fierce friction, and burst out of his lips as, “I’m sorry.”
A soft, surprised huff, almost lost in the dizzy ringing of Usopp’s ears. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. You keep throwing those words around and they’re not going to mean much.”
“I…I wasn’t much good as a sword, was I?”
“I’ve held worse. Improvised weapons are never the best.” The truncated rasp of a broken blade being returned to its mostly-empty scabbard.
He shook his head slowly, hand tightening on the door, trying to remember why he’d come in here. He’d…he’d been looking for something…he’d come in here sure that he’d find it, and had managed to do nothing but break in on the swordsman’s privacy. This happened way too often, lately—strange thoughts, odd moments of unfocused reverie, and the near-nightly jerking out of overheated, metallic dreams and finding himself halfway across the room before he realized that he didn’t know why he was standing. The others thought he was having nightmares—Sanji had started pouring astringently-flavored tea down his throat before bed, swearing it to be utterly sovereign against night terrors of all sorts with the kind of conviction that made Usopp wonder what had once chased the blond man through his dreams.
The tea hadn’t helped, but Usopp was getting better about pretending to need to visit the head when he staggered out of his hammock. Great Liar Usopp, scared of letting anyone know the truth. He hadn’t felt this much like he was losing his mind since…since…
Since Merry had started talking to him.
Maybe he really had cracked. Maybe one of those blows to the head had addled his brains at last. Maybe he should have just stayed on Water 7, where he could be crazy in a setting where it would do no harm. He didn’t feel insane, though. He just felt…abraded. Like he’d had a little too much of himself rubbed away by what had happened, and he hadn’t figured out how to deal with it yet.
Zoro’s hand closed over his, and he realized that he hadn’t even registered the swordsman getting up and moving, hadn’t felt the increasing pressure of his regard until that touch, hand over hand, cuff-marks matching, drowning suddenly in the soft, faint scent of sword oil and sweat.
“I-I’m sorry about Yubashiri.” The words jerked out of his mouth before he could stop them. Where was his clever tongue now? He should be leaving, should be hiding, should be staying out of Zoro’s way so he could mourn his lost blade in peace.
“Don’t be.” There it was, the low, warm rumble from his dreams, and a thumb gliding slowly across his cheek, smoothing away something only Zoro could see. “Yubashiri broke. Hana Arashi didn’t.”
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Date: 2006-12-27 09:22 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-27 08:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-27 08:57 pm (UTC)(no subject)
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Date: 2006-12-29 04:43 pm (UTC)